August 31, 2008

Its noon and the sun is scorching. I’m strolling down the street towards a small restaurant that serves the most exquisite Moroccan cuisine, according to Kevin. His exact words, i think, were “Bloody fuckin’ awesome”. Today i’m meeting Campbell, supposedly to discuss the details of the upcoming major surgery. As i continue strolling, the heat from the sun bearing down on me, a boy with a hugely exaggerated mohawk haircut skateboards towards me. When he realises I’m not moving aside, he begins flailing his arms and gesturing wildly at me. He’s yelling but i can’t hear him because i have Nora Jones crooning into my ears from my mp3. Finally, he tries to stop but instead slips and lands hard onto the concrete, back first, his skateboard continuing down the street without him. I walk to where his head is, glance down at him and give him a smirk, then continue on my way.

In the restaurant, the air-conditioning is on and it feels good to be out of the heat. I spot Campbell in the corner booth, waving to me. As i head towards him, the smell of garbage overwhelms me and i start covering my nose and coughing lightly.

“Doctor…”

“Campbell, do you smell that? Holy… It stinks in here.”

“Smell what? I don’t smell anything.”

“You don’t? Jesus, get yourself checked.”

Campbell clears his throat, and requests that we get down to business in a tone which suggests he’s offended but i’m too distracted by the smell to bother. Campbell runs through the details of the surgery with me. We’re going to be using a robot that operates by making cuts less than one millimetre in width, almost the same size as a paper cut. He goes on and on about how incredible the technology is and how everyone can’t wait to observe the procedure and he’s starting to sweat and raise his voice and he’s excited but his enthusiasm doesn’t rub off on me and all i do is sit there and yawn and think about what i’m going to do with his rib cage when i finally obtain it.

August 26, 2008

Because of my OCD, i have to perform a little, ritual, if you must, every morning before i leave for work. Before i step out of the house and begin yet another monotonous day, i have to visit a few websites. Soccer net, a few blogs that i read on a regular basis, and if there’s nothing new or interesting, i have to return to the home page of that particular website, count to five and then move on to the next one. What follows is usually me cursing myself and then leaving the house. Today, instead of the usual, i was actually smiling.

No, there’s nothing funny about your latest entry. It’s not the humour, or lack thereof, that made my day. It’s the fact that i’ve finally gotten the response i want.

All i wanted was for you to say all that to me. I wanted you to “throw everything onto the table”. I wanted you to yell all that in my face. But every time we got remotely close to that point, we’d piss each other off and end up at the same exact spot.

I appreciate you making jokes. Keeping the mood light. But the fact is we have a problem. And when you have a problem, you don’t just leave it alone and wait for it to evaporate. You do something about it. To think that problems will solve themselves is naive; its equivalent to saying “i have cancer. But it’ll go away next week so its all good”.

So, i did what i had to do to make you talk. I made you explode. I have to be honest though, the “hurray” remark was more sarcastic than anything, and it was never meant to trigger your eruption. But i’m glad it happened before anything worse could make its way out my vocal chords.

If i know you, and i do, you’re thinking “what a load of bullshit alvin”. Thats what any normal person would think. But you, of all people, should know what i’m capable of. You, of all people, should know that I’ll do anything, anything at all, to have my way. And you, of all people, should know that i’ll do it again without hesitation. People have their methods of diagnosing and treating. This is mine. There is a possbility you might be upset, but as your mantra goes, “rock and roll. deal with it.”

You’re right. Its no one’s fault. Our friendship has run its course. We’ve had awesome times. Now, this is our clean slate. Except this time, you’re no different to me than anyone else. The fact that i was able to pull this off says it all.

Final piece of advice. “People don’t change. For example, I’m going to keep repeating ‘people don’t change’.” Situations change. Hairstyles change. Prices of cellphones change. But people never change. As much as we want them to, they never change.

August 25, 2008

Making certain that no one is within range, I open the vial and do a line. Then I look towards Kelly and tilt my head up so she can inspect my nose. After getting the all clear, i slip the vial into the inside pocket of my Comme des Garçons jacket, sweep the remaining specks off and take a huge gulp of my scotch.

Out of nowhere, Fletcher appears and he’s walking funny so i know he’s either drunk or on something. He pulls a vanilla envelope from the breast pocket of his Armani, slaps me lightly on the face a couple of times with it, then walks away but not before dropping it into my lap. His expression never changes throughout the entire 30 seconds he’s in my face, that same look which also made an appearance when i showed him the femur bone of my paper boy, that same look which surfaced after his coach dropped him from the most important fixture of the season, that same goddamn emotionless expression that i abhor so much but just cannot bring myself to say anything about.

I gulp down the remainder of my scotch before picking up the envelope. It doesn’t feel like there’s anything inside and sure enough, when i open it, it’s empty. Just as i begin to crush it up and start cursing Fletcher, Kelly reaches out and grabs my wrist with such force that I immediately turn towards her and shoot her the “whats the story” look, complete with raised eyebrow. She takes the slightly crumpled envelope and looks inside. I watch as the emotions start playing out on her face, and i recognise them as shock, confusion, and fear, in that order.

She makes a few tears in the envelope and spreads it out so it looks like a weirdly shaped piece of paper and holds it out in front of me. Someone has scribbled something on it and i can hardly make out the words because of the coke and the alcohol but i move my face closer to it and my heart shoots into my throat because right there at the bottom corner, scrawled in blood red ink, are the words, “I want my leg back.”

August 17, 2008

As soon i heard the last two words, i began looking around, straining my neck to look over the shelves, trying to see the blessed soul who just uttered the name of my favourite author.

“Okay. Okay. Never really heard of him but i guess i could give him a try…”

There it was again. A female voice. By this time i’m looking around frantically. Finally, i spot her. She’s wearing a black top, skirt of some kind, sneakers, and she’s on the phone. Eurasian looking. Her long, jet black hair covers the right side of her face. She’s short, around 160cm probably. And she’s carrying 4 books. I spot two by paulo coelho. Nice eyes, good body. Overall, a good-looking specimen. And she’s alone. On a sunday afternoon. In a book store.

“Happy birthday alvin, from god.” I mutter as i approach her from behind. She’s off the phone.

“Excuse me,”

She turns around, slightly startled.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. Are you by any chance looking for something by Brett Easton Ellis?”

“Yeah, my friend just recommended him. Is he good?”

I smile and take a deep breath as i begin to try and explain my adoration for Ellis. His style of writing, his material, how his are the only books i can’t seem to be able to put down.

“You should try this.” I hand her a copy of American Psycho.

“Oh i’ve seen the movie. It wasn’t that good.” She replies, eyeing the book.

“Most movies aren’t as good as their books. Trust me. It’ll get you started with his work.” I smile, reassuringly.

“Alright. Thanks….”

“Alvin.”

“Nicole.” She smiles and extends her hand. I take it with a tiny bow that makes her giggle.

“Well alright, i’m going to pay for my books now. You have fun with Brett.” I say, looking at my phone. Its almost five.

“Thank you again. It was a pleasure meeting you,”

“Pleasure’s all mine. See you.”

I pay for my books at the cashier’s and walk out of the store. She’s not at the literature section anymore. Then, it hit me. I had just spoken to an attractive girl who likes reading and isn’t afraid to be alone, and i didn’t even ask for her number. And the funny thing is, i didn’t even feel like i missed the wagon.

Maybe thats how it is when you just don’t have the energy for hope anymore. Sure, it felt like she was great. Not very talkative. Good dress sense. Perfect english. But all these things count for nothing because even if i did get her number and we did end up seeing each other, she’d still end up annoying me. We’d still fight. And i’d still leave her.

I guess i don’t have it in me anymore. To hope that things will turn out different. Because everytime you allow yourself expectations, everytime you let yourself think that maybe something’s going to be different this time, it hurts alot more when it turns out that nothing’s changed. Friendships, family affairs, and relationships with people in general. Its better to have your guard up and be safe than sorry, isn’t it?

August 11, 2008

Its finally dawning on me that i’ve hardly moved forward at all. All this while i’ve been talking about what i believe in, my philosophies, my theories, and as i sit in front of my computer on this cold monday night, i realise how vulnerable i’ve allowed myself to become. How big a hole i’ve allowed to be opened up on my armour. And as always, the method of discovering this hole is for someone to stick a spear in and plunge it deep into my chest.

It really is fascinating, how i’ve managed to become disilliusioned by everything that’s happened. And its amazing, how one can never truly be used to the pain, even if it strikes over and over and over again. Trivial as it may seem to most, what you did speaks more words than a picture ever could. It says, move aside. it says, your services are no longer required. Most of all, it says, you are so easily replacceable its hardly believable. And the style and grace that you did it with, remarkable. Swift and silent and oh so deadly.

At first, i began to ask myself why. Then i realised the answer to the question is simply “because i let it.” Because of tiny decisions that i have made over the course of this year, i have sparked off a terrifying chain of events that has resulted in this tragicomedy.

Then i asked myself “what now?” It took a full two seconds for the voice in my head to give me the answer. “Never. Again.”

August 10, 2008

National day, in my opinion, like every other holiday, is a day that companies use as a gimmick to market “new” products by simply adding an unusual but not so uncommon twist. “Get your new national day icecream! Cherry and vanillla. Oh look colours of our flag, how interesting!” Surely you’ve seen all that before. And it happens every single year without fail.

I guess we have to give them some credit. I mean, imagine the amount of work and brainstorming it takes to come up with a brilliant scheme like that. So well done exploiters. And well done exploitees, for being such good sports. And fools.

With that, I would like to wish singapore a happy birthday. What is it now, 43 years? Just about the time a person starts developing breast cancer, early signs of alzheimers, chronic fatigue. All those in addition to the congenital heart defect you were born with, I’d say your odds of living til a ripe old age are as slim as george michael is gay. Happy birthday!